Who Needs Food When You've Got Feliciano?
by Scyrie
Summary: Feliciano has decided to cook a nice meal for Germany, but because the German has no visitors that day, Italy gets a bit distracted.


Germany returned from feeding his three dogs, locking the door behind him so Italy wouldn't disturb their meal, muttering a few German curses under his breath. Furrowing his eyebrows, he maintained his growling, walking to the laundry room. In the process of feeding his rather large dogs, he'd gotten covered in dirt and slobber.

And- as always- a certain idiotic, Italian brunette had to happily knock on his door. He was shouting something about pasta, but the cold blonde couldn't have cared less.

"Germany!" the smaller man called. "Germany! Hey Germany! I have pasta! We can share it!"

Sighing, Germany thumped his forehead against a wall of his laundry room. Rubbing his temples, he stayed in there for a while, hoping Italy would give up. But, Feliciano didn't give up, and he kept calling out for Germany. Discarding his jacket, he threw it in the washer, then walked out of the minute room. On his way to the front door, he kicked the back door violently to shut the dogs up.

With a pout, he flung the front door open and didn't even bother to look at Italy before walking back to the laundry room. And- of course- Italy followed him.

"I have pasta for us to share!" he giggled.

Glancing at Italy, Germany nodded. "Yes, I heard you. But save it for later, Italy."

Tilting his head, Italy blinked at the larger blonde. "What? Why later, Germany?" he asked, his lower lip protruding in a pout.

Growling loudly, Germany glared at Italy out of the corner of his eyes. "I'm busy."

"Aww!" the brunette pouted even more, hugging Germany's waist, causing the blonde to try and push him off. "Too busy for me and pasta?" he whined.

Unable to push Italy off, Germany lifted his arms above his head to avoid touching Italy. Curling his nose he said, "Yes… too busy for you and pasta. Is there anything else you need here?" he questioned, his voice harsh as always.

Still moping, Italy nuzzled into the blonde's side lovingly. "I just wanted to be here with Germany!" he squeaked.

Rolling his bright blue eyes, Germany sighed once more, propping himself against the wall of the laundry room. "Well, do you mind? I need to clean this shirt."

Giggling, Italy didn't even notice Germany's eye-roll, hopping up and wrapping his legs around Germany's waist. Pressing his lips to the blonde's, he closed his eyes blissfully. Removing himself from Germany, the brunette ran off to his kitchen, yelling "I'm'a heat up the pasta!" on his way there.

Exhaling growlishly, Germany angrily tore his shirt off and threw it into the washing machine. Opening the dryer hatch, he searched for his black tank top he'd washed the night before. "Just don't burn my house down!"

"I won't, Germany!" was all the blonde heard before the microwave door slammed to a close.

Finding his tank top, Germany threw it on and then walked out to his kitchen, raising an eyebrow at the brown-haired, miniscule man. "Listen to me, Feli-"

"You're using my name!" Italy squeaked, bouncing up and down. "You never use my-"

Germany moved forward, covering Italy's mouth, raising his eyebrow further. "Because I figured you'd listen better. Feliciano- I have to collect my dogs' bowls. Do. Not. Follow. Me," he snarled, narrowing his eyes. "Understood?"

Once again, Italy pouted, sadly lowering his eyelids. "Whaat? Whyy?"

Grabbing Italy by the collar of his shirt, Germany yanked Italy forward. He wasn't meaning to be rough, but Italy yelped as his feet left the ground. "Because!" he snapped. "The dogs will eat you, and so will I if you follow me!"

"Okay, Germany…" Italy mumbled, staring up at the blonde with big, heart-wrenchingly sad, chocolate brown eyes.

Just barely softening his livid gaze, Germany scowled and dropped the Italian back onto his feet. Heading out the back door, he instantly earned loud barks and growls from his dogs. He didn't even look up as he heard Italy rummaging through his kitchen, knowing the idiot was probably searching for something to add to his stupid pasta. Though, he did look up when suddenly one of the windows was thrown open, and Italy poked his head out.

"Germany!" he shouted. "Germany I made you potatoes and sausage! And be nice to your puppies!"

Blinking, the blonde sat between his dogs, and petted them, trying to calm them down further. "You did…? Italy, please. You don't have to."

Tilting his head, Italy furrowed his eyebrows somewhat. "But, Germany, you like potatoes and sausage! I know you do!"

Curling his nose, he pushed one dog, Berlitz, off of him. "Of course I do, but you're too nice, it's a weakness," he said, wiping slobber off of his face.

Sighing, Italy rested his chin in the palm of his hand, and then started giggling again. "Well, it's ready for you when you want it~! The pasta, too!"

Standing up, Germany pushed the dogs off of him before walking inside. Setting his pets' bowls on the counter, he just kind of uncomfortably stood there, not sure how to really react.

"…Er… thank you…" he said after a while of Italy staring at him expectantly.

Italy beamed merrily at the blonde, and pranced over to the kitchen table, pulling a chair out for the fair-haired German. Sliding into a chair right next to it, he cocked his head to the right, grinning. "You sit next to me, right, Germany?" he asked, his voice overjoyed.

Germany sighed, rolling his cerulean eyes and leaned his weight on one foot. He didn't even get out his question of 'do I have to?' before the diminutive (in comparison with Germany) Italian began moping once more. He sighed again, shaking his head and then walking over to Italy, taking the seat next to him.

"Fine, whatever…" he snarled, shoving Italy's chair further away from him.

Giggling again, the brunette delivered to Germany a plate of the food he'd made. Bouncing, he announced, "I hope'a you like it! I worked hard!"

Leaning back in his chair, Germany took a bite out of the food, blinking in astonishment. Although it tasted delicious, he expertly hid the disbelief of it from Italy. "You are quite good at cooking," he said slowly, not giving much away. As if the dense Italian would even realize he was being complimented.

At this, Italy grinned wider than before, adjusting to sit in Germany's lap. Stretching his neck a bit, he kissed the blonde delicately. "I'ma glad you think so!"

Surprisingly, the blonde didn't throw Italy off of his lap, instead letting him just stay there. Although, Germany couldn't help the shudders that went sky rocketing up his spine as their lips pressed together. "You are lucky I have calmed down for today," he growled, trying to cover it up.

Tilting his head, Italy furrowed his eyebrows in thought, and then a light dawned on his face. Looking up at Germany, he smiled innocently, batting his eyelashes. "So I can keep kissing you, right?"

Germany paused for a long while, and then glanced across the room at his calendar. That day, no one was visiting him, so why not Italy have a bit of fun for once? Groaning, he just barely nodded, to which Italy happily squealed. His legs encircled Germany's waist, and his arms followed suit around the blonde's neck. Leaning forward, he kissed Germany once more, lingering for a long time. Uncertainly, Germany wrapped his own arms around Italy's lithe waist, resting his hands on the other's back softly, tenderly stroking his spine. He almost completely forgot about the food he'd been given; the small Italian was a shockingly good kisser.


End file.
